


the marks you leave

by alpha_lahey



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, Biting, Blow Jobs, Facials, M/M, Marking, Possessive!Derek, Scent Marking, beta!derek, light bloodplay, like really light, specifically derek biting him, stiles has a thing for biting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-31
Updated: 2014-05-31
Packaged: 2018-01-27 20:09:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1721030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alpha_lahey/pseuds/alpha_lahey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“What do you want, Stiles?” Derek enunciates each syllable with dangerous precision, while he can barely put two words together without moaning between them. “Tell me, and I’ll give it to you.”</p><p>Stiles is pretty sure he’s about to cry, he’s so turned on. “I want-” He gasps, fighting for enough breath to speak as a clawed thumb presses insistently against his pale throat. “I want… Hmmmph!” Derek’s teeth replace his fingers at Stiles’ nipples and oh God, he’s gonna die from this. “The Bite!” He squeaks, his voice shooting up in pitch. “I want the Bite!”</p>
            </blockquote>





	the marks you leave

**Author's Note:**

> This creeped up on me last night at 2:30am and apparently I was not allowed to sleep until I at least _started_ to write it down. It's my first work for this pairing and this fandom, so go easy on me, hey?

“You want _what_?” Derek growls, his voice thundering through the loft, probably loud enough to be heard several blocks away.

Stiles blanches. “I… I dunno, I just thought I’d throw it out there, y’know? I mean, you always encouraged kink negotiation, right? Communication is key and all that?” Stiles knows it is a hopeless case – he’s always suspected it would be – but he figured there was no harm in asking.

He figured wrong.

Derek looks furious, more furious than Stiles has ever seen him. It’s kind of hot, Stiles thinks, but he diverts that train of thought to his mental wank bank and tries to focus on the issue at hand. “Forget it, okay. Clearly, you’re not in to it, so… Yeah. Let’s drop it and pretend this whole awkward thing never happened.” He says hurriedly, resisting the urge to back away as Derek creeps forward, still making those sinfully hot growling noises under his breath. “It’s just some dumb fantasy, right? Not all fantasies have to become realities.” He babbles nervously, as Derek doesn’t stop moving towards him. He is torn, again, as his brain screams run and his dick is too hard to form a proper judgement. “Not all fantasies _should_ become realities, I get it. It’s totally fi-”

“Stiles.” Derek warns, so close that Stiles can feel his warm breath on his neck. Stiles swallows nervously, knowing that Derek could hear his elevated heart rate, feel the heat radiating from his body, smell his arousal. “You are going to be the fucking _death_ of me.”

Stiles is lifted off his feet by the collar and smashed into the wall behind him as Derek’s nails – wait, nope, those were claws, God _damn_ it – dig into his collar bone, pinning him helplessly to the cool bricks. All he can see is the glowing electric blue of Derek’s eyes, all he can feel is _Derek_ pressing against his thigh. “So, uh… You’re _not_ totally opposed to it?”

“Shut up, Stiles.”

Stiles jerks his head in an attempt at affirmation, and Derek finds that sweet spot under Stiles’ ear that makes him scream. “Here?” He murmurs, the action surprisingly soft in contrast to the claws at his throat and the unmistakeable feel of fangs under the rough, warm lips pressed against his skin.

“G-God, yes.” Stiles blurts, blood and adrenaline pounding through his body. One wrong move and he’s probably dead, but hey, that’s just his life now, living in a world of angry and hormonal werewolves, and he’s totally used to it. He rocks his hips forwards, seeking something, anything, to relieve some of the pressure, but Derek uses his knee to hold him secure against the wall, allowing him full control.

Stiles whimpers quietly, his cock rock hard and soaking a wet patch into his underwear. “P-Please.” He whines. He doesn’t even know what he’s asking for – just something, something more than what he is being given.

Derek complies, and his tongue darts into the hollow of his collar bone, tracing a vein up his neck back to that same spot under his ear. The noise that escapes his mouth is mortifying - wanton and needy and so damn turned on that he can barely breathe. Derek laughs a harsh guttural laugh and teases the pale, unmarked skin on Stiles’ neck between his teeth, pulling gently, working reactions from Stiles one by one.

It’s only when he has dismantled Stiles entirely, only when Derek alone is keeping him upright, his legs completely turned to jelly beneath him, that Derek presses an open mouthed kiss to the tender flesh, and sucks. Stiles gasps, his eyes rolling back into his head in pleasure as Derek’s mouth marks him. His hand rises to cup Stiles’ face, stroke his cheek, drag his fingers through the soft brown hair, spreading Derek’s scent over his prize with greed. Stiles is unmistakeably _Derek’s_ , and God, that thought is just perfect. “Derek, please, I need… I want-” His words break off, interrupted by a hollow, high pitched keen as Derek’s claws tear through his t-shirt, leaving it hanging open in tatters. He takes a nipple delicately between the sharp points and squeezes carefully, careful not to break the skin, but hard enough to make Stiles gasp.

“What do you want, Stiles?” Derek enunciates each syllable with dangerous precision, while he can barely put two words together without moaning between them. “Tell me, and I’ll give it to you.”

Stiles is pretty sure he’s about to cry, he’s so turned on. “I want-” He gasps, fighting for enough breath to speak as a clawed thumb presses insistently against his pale throat. “I want… Hmmmph!” Derek’s teeth replace his fingers at Stiles’ nipples and _oh God_ , he’s gonna die from this. “The Bite!” He squeaks, his voice shooting up in pitch. “I want the Bite!”

Those bright blue eyes look up at him through thick, dark lashes, and there is something wild in them, something deeply animalistic and feral. Derek snarls, yanking Stiles’ pants and boxers to his knees, his cock bouncing free, and he’s convinced that he’s harder than he’s ever been in his life. His heart skips about ten beats, momentarily terrified that wolf Derek is going to interpret that as ‘Please Derek, bite my dick off’, but he chooses a spot just above his hip bone, pale and spattered with light moles, and traces their pattern with his tongue.

Stiles takes his cock into his hand and jerks it roughly, his head tipped back, resting on the wall behind him as relief washes over him. Moans ripple in the air between them , his hand and Derek’s mouth bringing him so close to release, until he feels a rough, clawed hand wrap firmly around his wrist, forcing him to stop just seconds from coming. Curse Derek’s stupid werewolf senses.

Derek sucks experimentally at the expanse of skin, smiling at the mewls and whines escaping Stiles’ mouth as he works another dark hickey into his otherwise flawless skin. “Ready?” Derek murmurs, his lips still pressed against the bruise, and Stiles nods eagerly, just able to spit out a gasping “Yes!” before Derek is looking at him with a smirk, fangs bared. “This might hurt.” He warns, one eyebrow cocked. He doesn’t give Stiles a chance to react before he sinks his teeth into his side.

Stiles screams, because _God fuck_ , that hurt a lot more than he thought it would, but mainly he’s just screaming out Derek’s name as he comes, spurt after spurt landing on his stomach, Derek’s cheek, the tufts of fur lining his jaw, even some in Derek’s hair. It’s undoubtedly the best orgasm he has ever, or probably will ever, have, and his legs do what they’ve been threatening to do for a while now and give out. Derek manages to awkwardly catch him and prop him up against the wall before he embarrasses himself by passing out or something equally humiliating.

“F-Fuck.” He whimpers, watching as Derek’s brilliant blue eyes faded to their normal green above him, hardly conscious of the aching pain in his side. “C’mere.” He says, voice hoarse, and pulls Derek in by the fabric of his jeans. The button is straining, and Stiles puts it out of its misery by undoing it and tugging them down enough to free Derek’s glorious cock from its fabric prison. He doesn’t hesitate before taking him into his mouth, just the tip, and teasing him with his tongue gently.

Normally Derek appreciates it when Stiles draws it out, but this time, he just grabs a handful of Stiles’ hair and pulls him closer, practically fucking himself into his mouth. Stiles doesn’t mind and adjusts quickly, rocking back and forth slightly to avoid gagging as he works with the furious rhythm Derek sets.

It’s fast and rough and oh so hot, and Stiles is hardly able to do anything but take what he’s given. He can feel Derek getting close as his thrusts become more and more erratic and it gets harder and harder for Stiles to keep up.

“Stiles, I-” Derek chokes out, looking at Stiles with possessiveness burning in his eyes. Stiles understands and pulls away, dwelling on how his throat feels strangely empty for a fraction of a second, before Derek comes. It hits his nose, his cheek. He can feel it in his eye lashes, and on his lips. “Mine.” Derek growls as he wipes two fingers along Stiles’ cheek bone, then pushes them into his mouth through slightly parted, and panting, lips.

Stiles sucks without thinking, swirling his tongue across Derek’s fingers, lapping up that single, unique taste of _Derek_. It still lingers when he replaces fingers with tongue, but there’s something else there too, something more than the usual taste of werewolf musk and come, something metallic, almost like – _oh_. Like rust. Blood. His blood.

Well, that really shouldn’t be hot, Stiles thinks, but it is.

Derek kisses him passionately, exploring every inch of his mouth, and Stiles is too exhausted to contribute, happy to do nothing but let him take what he wants.

*

Stiles wakes up in Derek’s bed and doesn’t remember how he got there. He sits up, blinking in the bright light, his head spinning. “Wh-What-”

“Shh… It’s just the painkillers.” Derek soothes him, stroking his hair gently, and Stiles relaxes into the touch. “You fell asleep for an hour or so, but I didn’t want to treat you until you’d regained consciousness.” Stiles looks down at the bandage expertly applied to his side, and winces. It’s tender and sore, and now feels like a much less good idea.

“Is it going to scar?” Stiles blurts, unthinking.

Derek laughs. “You really think I’d do something that would cause you permanent damage? Werewolf healing, remember?” He waggles his fingers in a way very reminiscent of Scott, and Stiles sighs in relief. “Why? Do you not want my teeth marks on your body forever?” He jokes, starting to gently peel back the dressing.

“It’s more the, uh, having to explain that particular scar to my dad.”

Derek laughs. “You might want to look away. Wolf bites tend to go a bit… unpleasant.”

He kind of wants to see the bite. He’s had a morbid curiosity ever since Scott got bitten, and even though he knows this won’t be the same, because Derek’s not an Alpha, he wants to see it. And besides, what was the point in going through the pain if he doesn’t get to see the physical _mark_ Derek had left behind?

“That’s… Woah. Yeah.” The impressions of two perfect rows of teeth stand out, raised and sore, on a bruised background. Stiles blushes, and even Derek looks a little embarrassed. “On a scale of one to a lot, how much is Scott going to take the piss tomorrow?”

“Uh. Definitely a lot. I kind of… got my scent all over you. It’s so strong, even a human could smell it.” Stiles pretends to look offended at the slight human jab, but his grin gives him away. Even as Derek says it, he’s still touching Stiles all over, like he can’t believe he’s real.

“You also came on my face.” Stiles adds helpfully. It’s always after those nights when Derek comes on him that Scott complains that the scent is the strongest, but Stiles really didn’t think his friend needed to know _why_. “Which I still vote that we should do more often, because as much as I love swallowing, I-” Stiles gasps, interrupting his little rant, as Derek rubs a ointment smeared finger over the bite. It’s not painful, just cold. “Is this going to hurt? The healing thing?”

Derek looks at him like he’s an idiot. “You let me bite you. With _fangs_. It’s hardly going to hurt any more than that, is it?”

Stiles shrugs. He always tries to block Scott out when he talks about stuff like this, but the one thing he does know is that it hurts the wolf. But Derek seems unperturbed, and splays his hand across the wound. He grunts and the muscles in his arm twitch as he draws the dull throbbing ache away. “Th-Thanks.” Stiles mutters, the sudden lack of pain leaving him feeling light headed and dizzy. “You okay?”

Derek is wincing in pain as his body reabsorbs the weird toxins and infections, but he soon shrugs it off. “M’fine. Don’t do that very often.” He gives Stiles a once over and nods approvingly. “Good as new.”

“Except this.” Stiles says, fingering at the hickey still left behind where the bite used to be. “I thought this would go, too.”

“What do you think I was concentrating so hard on?” Derek grins, and sweeps Stiles into a soft kiss. “Thanks for telling me what you wanted, Stiles.” He murmurs, rubbing his thumb under Stiles’ jaw line. “It was hot.” Stiles is relieved Derek approves; it has been his biggest masturbatory fantasy since Derek became a Beta again, and hell, it had still been pretty dominant before that, despite the whole becoming a werewolf or possibly dying issue.

Derek disrupts his thoughts by throwing him a henley from his closet, the shredded remains of Stiles’ shirt left forgotten on the floor, and they curl up together on the bed, both exhausted and sedated and happy.

Stiles is so relaxed that he doesn’t even care what Scott will say tomorrow, when he shows up to school bruised and marked and smelling of Derek, undeniably _owned_.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr [right here](http://www.isaac-laehey.tumblr.com).


End file.
